


A Clever Plan

by Marian_De_Haan



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s01e10 Breakdown, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-08 12:10:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20835245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marian_De_Haan/pseuds/Marian_De_Haan
Summary: As one plan goes disastrously wrong, another one is hatched. Will it fare any better?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Published in Trooper Orac's Fantastic Plastic Army. Reproduced here on the author's behalf and with the author's permission.

After attaching the last of her batch of time bombs, Cally stepped back. With satisfaction she saw that the explosive — about ﬁfteen centimetres in diameter and rather solid - was totally hidden from view by the protruding end of the large assembly unit. The bombs could be activated from Liberator, a tactic Blake's crew had insisted on after the mishap on Centero.

She looked over the spacecraft assembly hall, to the end where Jenna stood guard at the entrance. The huge hall, ﬁlled with equipment and parts, was deserted, the workers having a day off to celebrate Federation Foundation Day, the most important date of the calendar.

Silently Cally began to move over to the other side, where Blake was placing his bombs. Jenna brieﬂy looked her way and Cally gave her a thumbs-up sign.

The wide double doors formed their only way out. The whole complex being shielded against teleportation, they then had to make their way back to the gate in the perimeter fence. It had taken Vila less than a minute to open the locks and Avon only slightly longer to adapt the security cameras. On their way to the hall they'd managed to evade the few guards left on duty. Vila had gone with Avon to sabotage the factory's computers in the ofﬁce block, which was situated at the other side of the compound.

Air-conditioning kept the hall cool even when work had ceased - to keep the temperature constant for the sensitive pieces of electronics, Cally supposed. They were on Rozel, a small planet only recently colonised by the Federation. Its atmosphere was hot and humid, with a lot of volcanic activity in the mountainous regions. The Factory was on a large plain, where the chance of earthquakes and eruptions was minimal.

In contrast to elsewhere, the complex did not rely on slave labour. The highly skilled workforce was paid well and living in a comfortable village a few kilometres away. That was why Blake had chosen the place: the destruction of the hall would not only set back the production of spacecraft, but also serve to bring fear and unrest among the Federation's privileged classes.

Approaching Blake, Cally telepathed: //l'm ready.//

He gave her a quick glance over his shoulder, mouthing: "Just this one left." The acoustics of the hall made sound travel far, reason to keep speech to a minimum.

Nodding, she went to stand beside him, idly watching him pulling out a panel set in the wall...

With horror Cally saw the scanner eye in the cavity lightening up. She pushed Blake aside. The blast meant for his heart hit him in the shoulder. Turned around by the force of the impact, he let out a cry, then sank through his knees.

An alarm began to blare through the building.

"What's happened?" Jenna shouted from the doorway.

"Blake's hurt." With dismay Cally saw blood appear on the shoulder of Blake's brown combat suit. "We must get him out!"

"Too late!" Jenna let off a shot. "There're guards coming." She ﬁred again, then quickly pressed the button that shut the door. Running to Cally, Jenna asked: "How bad is he?"

"Passed out. The wound is not lethal, I think, but we need to get him back to Liberator."

"Well, we've got no chance of getting past that door," Jenna said. "We're safe for the moment, though. We can shoot down every guard that sticks his head through the door."

Cally nodded. "So they'll do the sensible thing and stay outside. They know we're trapped here."

Jenna reached for her teleport bracelet. "I'd better warn Avon."

"No!" Cally forced Jenna's arm down. "If our enemies pick up the signal they'll know there're more of us. Now they may think we're the only intruders and not go looking for others."

Seeing that she had convinced Jenna, Cally let go of her arm. "I'll warn Avon."

* * * * * *

In the ofﬁce Avon entered the last instruction into the computer, then leaned back in his chair.

"That's it. Nothing will stop this bug now."

Vila, reclining in a chair with his feet on a desk, looked bored. "Why not simply wipe the whole lot?"

Having ignored Vila's prattle during his work, Avon now deigned to reply. "Because in that case they'd immediately start reconstructing the data from the backups. This way it will take weeks before they become aware that somethings wrong, by which time all backups will be infected too."

"Clever."

"Yes." Avon put the computer on standby. "Let's just hope that Blake can curb his desire to blow up this place long enough for the bug to get into the network. With all the systems linked it will affect this whole sector."

Vila stretched lazily. "So for once a mission goes off without a hitch."

Avon rose, carefully checking that he left the console exactly as he'd found it. "I'll believe that when I'm back on Liberator." He'd not been happy about Blake leaving Gan alone on the ship, only a week after the operation to repair the limiter in his brain. But Blake had accepted Gan's assurances that he felt up to the task.

Vila lowered his feet to the ground. "Oh, come on, Avon! Relax!"

Avon stared suspiciously at him. This complacency wasn't in style, usually Vila stayed nervous throughout a mission. So what had caused...?

"You idiot!" He grabbed Vila by the collar of his combat suit, hauling him forcefully from his chair. "You've been drinking!"

"Just a bit of booze I found in a locker here. Quite good stuff."

"Fool! When they ﬁnd it missing they'll know someone's been here!"

"Don't worry, Avon. I've ﬁlled it up with water. Anyway, Blake will probably have blown this place sky high before -..."

The rest of his remark was blocked out by the alarm.

"Damn!" Avon let go of the collar.

Vila looked suddenly extremely sober. "What do we do?"

"Get out!" Avon was already running to the door. Drawing his gun, he savagely pushed the door button with his free hand. As soon as the door had slid aside far enough he burst through the gap, running for the cover of some large waste disposal vats. He didn't check whether Vila was following him, but wasn't surprised when he came to a halt at his side.

They'd been just in time. Black-clad security guards were running from their headquarters at the back of the ofﬁce block, heading for the assembly yard.

//Avon, Vila, we're trapped in the hall. Blake's hurt. We need help to get him out.//

Avon saw from Vila's paling face that he'd received the message too.

"If they're blocking the entrance we'll never get to him," Vila said.

"Even if we could get him out," Avon reasoned, "it's at least ﬁfty metres to the gate, with no cover. We'll never make it, dragging a wounded man along."

Vila nodded. "Certainly not with someone Blake's size. But while those guards keep their eyes on the hall, WE can get away!"

"It's the only logical option," Avon agreed.

"So let's go!"

"Wait!" Grabbing Vila's arm, Avon gestured at a dark moving dot beyond the fence. "They're sending reinforcements."

"That's quick," Vila observed.

Avon nodded. "Apparently not all Federation personnel has got the day off."

"Or they've been just picked out of the bar," Vila said. "In which case they'll be in a hell of a mood."

Avon studied the ﬂier, which was now near enough to be recognisable. "Small armoured troop carrier. Maximum load twelve persons, including the driver."

The craft, flying about a metre above the ground, rose to hop gracefully over the fence, descended again and made a smooth touchdown about twenty meters away from them. Doors opened and troopers, dressed in the standard Federation outﬁt, ﬁled out, the sunlight reﬂecting off their helmets. All but one marched towards the hall. The guard left with the vehicle stood watching them disappearing round the comer.

"Transport!" Vila whispered, staring almost mesmerised at the ﬂier.

Avon raised his gun and took careful aim at the guard's back. At this distance it was impossible to miss, even with his limited amount of training. A single blast brought the guard down. He fell with very little sound.

Avon pushed him forward. "Come on!"

They broke into a run. Halfway Avon tripped over a broken tile in the pavement. He managed to keep his balance but, landing hard on his other foot, he felt a ﬁerce pain shoot through his ankle.

Cursing, he ran on, reaching the ﬂier.

Vila, already inside, eyed him anxiously. "Can you handle this thing?"

Avon slid into the driver's seat, scanning the instruments. "When sufﬁciently motivated, yes."

Vila settled into the adjacent seat. "I take it you are sufﬁciently motivated?"

Avon found the door control switch. "You'd better strap yourself in tightly."

"If you're trying to reassure me," Vila said, "you're making a poor job of it."

Avon took the steering column and engaged the drive. The ﬂier shot upwards. Avon moved the column forwards, bringing the craft almost into a nosedive. He pulled up just before hitting the ground, but had to steer quickly to the left to prevent colliding with the ofﬁce building. Realising the column reacted at the merest touch, Avon adjusted his movements, steering the ﬂier into a low, slow, tight circle between the office building and the wall. He wanted to make sure he could manoeuvre the craft before taking off.

The ﬂier now responding smoothly, Avon felt his conﬁdence grow. He risked a quick glance sideways. Vila sat rigid, clasping the armrests of his seat, his eyes ﬁrmly closed.

"I've got it worked out now," Avon said.

Vila opened his eyes. "I think you scared me on purpose." Frowning, he added: "Well, let's get out of here, before they come back for their ﬂier. Once we're past that fence we can contact Liberator and tell Gan to bring us up."

It was the logical action. The ONLY reasonable thing to do, Avon thought. Blake and the women were lost. The guards could starve them, smoke them out, pump poison gas into the hall, or use any of half a dozen other methods to kill them.

Which meant that Liberator was his for the taking. Vila wouldn't stop him. They could dump Gan on some rebel base, Avon wasn't prepared to share the ship with a hulk who could turn into a mindless killer at the slightest malfunction of his limiter. Zen could ﬂy the ship — as long as they stayed out of the Federation's way they had no need of a pilot. He certainly wasn't going to risk Liberator in any foolish and futile battle to bring power to the rabble. The galaxy was full of riches, and with Vila at his side to open all locks, those riches were now within his reach. At last, he would be able to gather the wealth that would bring him security.

* * * * * *

Jenna had joined Cally. Keeping one eye on the door, she helped her to cut away Blake's clothes around the wound. "He looks bad."

"Once we have him back on Liberator he'll be all right."

"The trouble is getting him back." Becoming aware of her hand reaching for the bracelet button, she checked the movement. "Do you think Avon heard you?"

"I have no means to know, Jenna." Removing the cloth, Cally shook her head at the bloody mass of Blake's shoulder. "Maybe he and Vila ran into trouble too."

Jenna felt less charitable. "Or they've simply bolted."

Cally shook her head. "I don't believe that."

"More fool you!" Jenna had always trouble reconciling Cally's insistence to expect the best of people with her ﬁerce combative nature.

"Anyway, for the moment it's up to us," Cally said. "A surprise attack. We open the door, shoot everyone we see and make a dash for the gate."

"Dragging Blake along?"

"We can't leave him."

"It's suicide!"

"Not if we ﬁnd something to carry him on - a board or trolley." Cally rose. "Help me search." Turning to her right, she began a systematic perusal of the various parts of equipment in the hall.

A bit reluctantly, Jenna followed her example in the other direction, not entirely sure of the wisdom of Cally's plan. She was prepared to go a long way for Blake, but committing suicide went too far...

A whining sound, mingled with screams, cut off her thoughts. Jenna turned round to see the doors crash inwards. An armoured ﬂier, the blue of its reinforced windows eerily sparkling, shot into the hall, braking swiftly and gliding upwards to avoid the assembly banks.

Jenna automatically raised her gun.

//Jenna, don't shoot!// Cally was running back towards the place where they'd left Blake, waving her arms. //lt's them.//

Jenna began to run. The ﬂyer came to a halt, hovering as low as it could without hitting the banks. When Jenna reached it, the side door opened.

"Get him in!" Avon's voice sounded harsh. "Help them, Vila!"

"Yes, yes, no need to push!" Holding on to the handles in the doorway, Vila gingerly lowered himself the half metre to the ﬂoor. "Nearly gave me a heart attack, mowing down those guards and speeding up to those doors. I thought my last hour had come!"

"Displaying your usual lack of judgement."

"When I saw those doors looming—"

"What with? You had your eyes tightly shut."

The bickering barely registering, Jenna helped to lift Blake into the ﬂier. The streamlined craft held two seats in the front, for the driver and the commander. Behind those were two benches along the sides. A rear door covered the whole of the back, enabling quick alighting.

They laid Blake onto the left bench. He just ﬁtted, although not comfortably. Jenna and Cally sat down on the opposite bench. No time to put on their safety harnesses. As Vila dropped into the front seat the doors closed and the ﬂier moved forward.

From the flying lessons she'd given him, Jenna knew that Avon had the makings of a good pilot. Still, she felt a tinge of apprehension when the craft went into a steep turn, just missing the walls. When they ﬂew through the doorway she could see half a dozen troopers lying motionless on the ground in pools of blood. Mowed down, Vila had said - Avon must have ﬂown straight into them. Others were still running away, dragging some wounded with them. A few shots were ﬁred when the ﬂier sped past, but the energy bolts glided off the exterior without doing any damage.

Avon steered the ﬂier upwards and over the fence, increasing speed.

Jenna brought her bracelet up to her mouth. "Liberator, stand by to teleport. Liberator, come in. Gan, reply!"

Silence.

"Oh no," Vila wailed.

"Your communicator could be damaged," Cally said. "I'll try."

She called Liberator on her own bracelet, then on Blake's. Vila joined in. They got no reaction.

"Let's try yours, Avon" Vila suggested.

"What's the point?"

"Liberator must have gone off station," Cally said.

"Obviously," Avon snarled.

Jenna felt in need of venting her frustration. "You don't seem surprised, Avon."

"Why should I be? We've never yet had one of Blake's schemes go smoothly!"

"Zen must have detected Federation ships approaching," Jenna said. "You can hardly blame Blake for that."

"HE brought us into this bloody mess!"

Jenna decided picking a quarrel with Avon wasn't worth her trouble after all.

They were now ﬂying over a desolate landscape of ﬂatlands covered with orange coloured grass. Blue streams were meandering towards a large lake in the distance.

"It's no use recriminating," Cally said. "We'll have to wait until Liberator's back."

"But not here," Vila stated. "Those chaps will be very angry about us ruining their day off."

"We're heading for the mountains," Avon said. "There we should have no trouble ﬁnding a suitable cave to hide in. Those rocks are riddled with hot geysers. In those circumstances they'll have to come up with a very good heat detector to ﬁnd us."

"Sounds too good to be true," Vila muttered.

Jenna turned her head to look through the front window. At the horizon she could just make out some vague blurs indicating the mountain range. "You've got it all worked out."

"I got Zen to provide all the information on Rozel from the databanks. I had a feeling that it might come in useful." After a pause, Avon added grufﬂy: "How's Blake?"

Jenna left the answer to Cally.

"He needs medical treatment."

"There's a ﬁrst aid box behind that red panel on the left," Avon said. "Standard equipment. Get it out,Vila."

Grumbling about being treated like a slave, Vila found the box and handed it to Cally.

"What happened?" Avon asked.

"A booby trap," Cally said. "Blake was searching for a place to put the last bomb. He found a panel in the wall. When he opened it, a shot went off."

"Typical!"

Jenna was prevented reacting to Avon's sneer by Cally asking for her help. Trying not to look at the ugly wound, she held Blake while Cally set to work with disinfectant and bandages. Although her smuggling career had brought her into some tight situations, Jenna had never taken the trouble to learn much about ﬁrst aid. She was now grateful to leave things to Cally, who seemed to know what she was doing.

"We'll wait with giving him a painkiller until he comes to," Cally said, fastening the end of the bandage. "There are only two, so we can't afford to waste them."

Vila let out a wail of dismay. "They are coming after us."

Jenna looked at the rear window but could see no movement in the bright yellow sky. Turning, she saw Vila looking at a dark blue screen in front of him, on which a tiny green dot was visible.

Avon leaned over to study the codes appearing at the bottom of the screen. "A Hornet class chaser," he identiﬁed. "One of the Federation's most successful models. Heavily armed and twice our speed."

Jenna frowned. It had struck her before that Avon seemed to have a much wider knowledge than could be expected of a computer technician. "How do you know all that?"

"My ﬁrst job was on a project revising the systems of all Federation military craft, from those tiny chasers to star-ﬂeet cruisers. There isn't a piece of electronics on _any_ Federation ship that I won't be able to identify."

"Does this craft has any armament?" Cally asked, handing the ﬁrst aid box back to Vila.

"No," Avon said ﬂatly.

"But, Avon..." Vila sounded on the brink of panic. "Are you saying that we can't shoot him and we can't outrun him?"

"You've grasped it, Vila! He'll be on us long before we reach the mountains."

Jenna activated her communicator again. "Liberator, we need teleport now!"

Although she had not really expected a reaction, the disappointment still hurt.

* * * * * *

Vila closed his eyes, needing to block out reality. For a moment he managed to dream up a vision of a recreation centre. Soft colours, comfortable couches, naked girls dancing...

"Vila!" Avon's sharp voice made the picture dissolve. "Open that panel in front of you, the one for the rear sensors."

Unwilling, Vila opened his eyes. "Why?"

"Our defences. Or do you want to wait to be shot down?"

"You said this thing hasn't got any armament."

"So we'll have to build some. Now ﬁnd the governors and isolate them. That shouldn't be above your skills."

"Oh, great! Why didn't I stay on Cygnus Alpha?..." But while moaning, he followed Avon's instructions, which were concise and clear. Although he wasn't interested in anything not to do with locks, Vila did have a talent for electronics.

"Cally," he heard Avon say between commands. "Strap Blake in. This could get rough."

Vila worked on in silence, Avon's commands leaving him no time for complaining. He wasn't sure what exactly he was working on, nor that the ﬁnished product would work.

"Hurry up, Vila," Avon said, voice tense. "It'll have us in ﬁring range within minutes."

"Yes, yes." Fumbling in his haste, Vila made the last connection. "Ready."

"Activate!"

Vila pressed the button. Nothing seemed to happen. "I knew it wouldn't work!"

On the screen the dot's colour changed to red, growing rapidly in size.

"Plasma bolt launched," Avon said. "Hold on!"

The ﬂier was engulfed by a blinding ﬂash. It rocked violently, making Vila's teeth rattle. He was pulled upwards, downwards and sideways while Avon fought with the ﬂier's controls. Suddenly equilibrium was restored.

It took Vila some moments to realise that the craft was still in one piece and airborne. On the screen not a single dot was visible.

"Where's that chaser?" he asked.

"It blew up when that bolt bounced back," Avon said.

"A force ﬁeld," Vila exclaimed, belatedly recognising the concept. "That's what you made me build."

Behind him Jenna said. "Of course! When that chaser shot at us, the bolt was reﬂected straight back at him."

"Destroyed by his own weapon," Cally mused. "A ﬁtting solution."

"Yes." Avon said.

Vila looked at him with a vague uneasiness. Avon usually liked to rub it in when he'd done something clever. Now he just seemed deadly tired.

"They'll bring reinforcements," Jenna predicted.

"Not before we've reached the mountains," Avon said.

A sobering thought occurred to Vila. "How can we be sure they won't be waiting for us there?"

"Because they haven't got a base out there," Avon said. "The only spot of colonisation is the Factory with the adjacent village and spaceport. Once we've reached the mountains we'll be safe — for the moment."

"Will Blake be able to hold on?" Jenna asked.

"Yes," Cally said. "But the sooner we get him back to Liberator the better. We must try to contact her every half hour."

Avon looked over his shoulder. "Do you want to take over, Jenna?"

"No. I've never ﬂown one of these and you seem to be doing ﬁne."

Vila snorted. "You don't know what you've missed! He nearly crashed the thing almost before he got it started." Releasing his safety harness, he sank deeper down into his seat. "And I deﬁnitely don't want to know it when he starts negotiating mountain passes at this speed."

Determinedly, he closed his eyes to sink into the blissful oblivion of sleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

Blake became aware of being uncomfortable. For a moment he couldn't really determine what was wrong but his bunk didn't feel right. Trying to stretch his legs, he felt his feet connect with an obstacle. This was ridiculous! He moved to sit up and a sharp pain seared through his shoulder. He groaned involuntarily.

"Keep still," Cally's voice advised. Blake felt a stab in his arm. "A painkiller."

The aching stopped, but he still felt weary and disorientated.

Blake opened his eyes. "Cally, what happened?"

Disregarding the dizziness, he sat up.

"Steady, Blake!" That was Jenna, who sat down at his side. Gratefully leaning against her, he became aware that his right arm was in a sling and the shoulder neatly bandaged. Part of his combat suit, including one sleeve, had been cut off.

Reﬂecting that the painkiller worked and his condition didn't seem worrying, Blake took stock of his surroundings. He was in a kind of vehicle. All three doors stood wide open. In the front seats Avon and Vila were busy on some piece of electronics on the dashboard. Avon did the tinkering, Vila handing him his tools while complaining loudly about being forced into strenuous work. Well, at least _something_ seemed normal.

They were in some sort of cave, he thought, looking through the windows. The daylight coming in from the wide entrance was enough to show the rocky surface and walls.

"I'll fetch you something to drink," Cally said. Taking a ﬁeld-ﬂask from the ﬂoor, she jumped through the door and walked towards the rear of the cave.

"Where am I?" Blake asked.

"Safe," Jenna said.

"For the moment," Avon added without looking round.

Vila did, winking at Blake as if to say 'Don't mind him'. "Welcome back. You had us worried for a bit."

"Some of us," Avon corrected.

Blake felt his patience wear thin. "Where am I? What happened."

"Isn't that obvious? Another of your brilliant schemes has gone disastrously wrong!"

Blake fought the familiar desire to lay his hands round Avon's neck and squeeze real hard. "Why aren't we on Liberator? We have business on Rozel."

Blake was startled by the sudden concern on Jenna's face.

"What is the last thing you remember?" she asked.

He frowned in concentration. "The wardrobe room. We were selecting something suitable for Rozel." They'd found a collection of cool and lightweight combat-suits. The ones they were wearing, he realised. Cally's was bright green, Jenna's magenta red, Vila's golden yellow and Avon's peacock blue. Blake remembered being relieved about his size coming in inconspicuous brown.

Cally returned, offering him the ﬂask. Water, cool and pure. Blake drank gratefully, realising how thirsty he was.

"What happened?" he asked again.

"You were hurt," Cally said, "placing the last bomb."

Of course! Memories ﬂooded back. The panel, the scanner eye, Cally's warning... "It was a booby trap."

"Yes. If it wasn't for us, you'd be dead by now." Leaning over the back of his seat, Vila embarked on a detailed report of how he and Avon had saved the day. Blake suspected that Vila was exaggerating his own part, but since none of the others corrected him the gist had to be true.

"Why didn't you call Liberator?"

"That's what we've been doing every half hour since then, Blake," Avon snapped, still not looking round. "In vain."

It took Blake a moment to absorb that piece of bad news. "Gan must have taken her away to avoid a Federation patrol."

"Or he simply got enough of risking his neck for the common cause, and bolted!" At last Avon turned to look at Blake.

"He _wouldn't_!" Cally said.

"He couldn't," Jenna added. "Not without a pilot."

Avon snorted. "All it needs to ﬂy Liberator is to give a few commands to Zen. That isn't beyond even Gan's limited capabilities."

Blake calmly returned Avon's stare, not deigning to reply.

Shrugging, Avon turned back to his job.

"Right," Blake said. "How long can we hold out here?"

"We've got rations for two days," Cally replied.

"Water's no problem," Jenna added. "There's a stream running through the back of the cave."

"We're pretty safe here," Cally said. "This cave hides us from the air and there's too much volcanic activity in the region for the employment of heat seeking equipment."

"Good." Blake felt his natural optimism return. "We'll just have to await Liberator's return."

"IF it does," Avon murmured.

"We'll set watches," Blake went on, choosing to ignore Avon's remark. He consulted his chronometer. "Mid-afternoon local time. I'll take the ﬁrst watch, then Cally, Avon, Jenna and Vila." That would put Cally and Avon, either of which could be trusted to stay awake, on the night shifts, while with any luck Liberator would have picked them up before it was the undependable Vila's turn.

Blake rose, reeling a bit; he wasn't as ﬁt as he'd thought. "But ﬁrst I need to um uh..."

Annoyingly, it was Avon who caught his meaning. "The latrine's outside — through the entrance and then on your left. Help him, Vila."

"Why me? Why don't you go, Avon? The exercise will do you good, you've been sitting here all the time letting me do the fetching..."

"Just do as you're told!"  
  
"All right." Vila climbed out of his seat and jumped from the ﬂier. Reaching through the open doorway, he helped Blake down.

Grateful for the support, Blake let himself be led from the cave, taking in the rocky, rugged landscape.

"I don't know what's the matter with Avon," Vila muttered. "He's simply impossible!"

"Sounds normal," Blake said.

"No, he's worse than usual."

Blake grinned, feeling his spirits lift. "Now _that_ seems impossible!"

* * * * * *

Outside the cave, hidden by a protruding piece of rock, Cally sat peacefully at watch. The night was cool compared to the day, although the air remained oppressive. Numerous moons shone in the sky, providing ample light. The rocks were full of night life, she's seen a number of small creatures sliding or skipping past. Distant roars indicated larger fauna. Cally wondered whether it would be possible to hunt them. If Liberator did not return soon, they would have to ﬁnd food. A few six-legged furry animals had come hopping up to her. They'd sat down on their hind legs less than a metre away from her, front and middle paws stretched out, yellow glowing eyes studying her nosily. They seemed easy to catch but Cally knew she would hate to have to kill and eat creatures that seemed almost humanly intelligent.

No search planes had come during the afternoon and it seemed unlikely that any would come in the night. Still, she had stayed alert, keeping an eye on the sky.

Her half-hourly calls to Liberator had gone unanswered. Now it was nearly time for Avon to relieve her. When she heard movement from the cave, Cally rose and went to stand partly behind a rock, its shadow hiding her from the entrance. She saw Avon come out and move towards the latrine. He was limping heavily.

Cally nodded to herself. She too had found Avon even more bad-tempered than usual and Vila's remark about him not stirring had set her thinking.

She sat down again with her back to the cave, giving him the opportunity to come up to her without having to try and hide his limp.

"All clear," she reported, when he lowered himself beside her.

"Yes," Avon said. "This whole business of setting watch is ridiculous. They won't waste their limited resources on searching for us. As far as they know we may have crashed, or we'll starve here when the flier's rations run out. The governor won't be keen to bring in outside help. He's known for his ambition and having saboteurs invading a top security plant isn't conductive to promotion. He'll have the hall searched, the bombs dismantled and the whole thing hushed up as fast as he can."

Cally had come to the same assessment. "Did you get time to ﬁnish the computer reprogramming?"

"Yes. At least that part of the mission will be accomplished."

Alone with her, he seemed more relaxed and prepared to let his defences down. Cally had the suspicion it was the same when he was with Vila.

"What's the matter with your leg?" she asked.

She could almost feel the shutters come up. "Nothing."

"Don't lie! You can hardly walk."  
  
A sigh of annoyance, then a shrug. "Running to the ﬂier l tripped and hurt my ankle. A stupid accident."

"Not your fault." Cally turned over to sit on her knees. "Let me take a look."

"There's no need."

"I think there is. Take off your boot."

"No, the swelling will make it impossible to get it back on again. I don't think i'll be able to take a step without the boot's support, so I'd better not take it off."

"All right." She sat down again, facing him. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"What was the point?"

"You prefer to suffer in silence?"

"Yes."

//You're impossible!// she told him, the annoyance she intended to project turning into affection.

For a moment his face lit up in an almost boyish grin.

Cally's heart jumped. This was the real Avon, the man she felt attracted to almost against her will. A man her instinct told her she should NOT get involved with. "I'd better get you a painkiller."

"NO!" He grabbed her arm, holding her down. 'We've only got one left and Blake will need that. He's enough of a liability as it is."

"it can't be long now before Liberator's back."

"You think so?"

Cally sighed, annoyed by Avon's tendency to always expect the worst. "Gan won't leave us here any longer than necessary."

"You still think he took Liberator away to escape a Federation patrol?"

"Of course. Your suspicion that he abandoned us is unwarranted, Avon — and you know it!"

He returned her stare. "There is another possibility."

Fighting a sudden feeling of unease, Cally challenged: "Is there?"

"Gan may have become incapable." Avon's voice was even sharper than usual. "Or dead."

* * * * * *

Jenna checked her watch. Another half-hour before the end of her shift. The long, boring uninspiring rocks had brought her in a foul mood. Sitting in the shade, she still felt unpleasantly hot. She didn't like to be planet-bound, preferring to feel the vibration of a spaceship under her feet.

When she had come to relieve Avon, she'd found him sitting with a sleeping Cally leaning against his shoulder. They'd seemed very companionable, making Jenna wonder what was going on between them. In principle, every attachment that kept Cally away from Blake was to be encouraged. On the other hand, an alliance between the Auron and Avon could infringe Blake's command of Liberator. Jenna still wasn't sure how to read Cally. Avon she did not trust at all.

She was still wondering what he'd been doing, just before going to relieve Cally. They'd been sleeping in the ﬂier, Avon and Vila in the front seats and Blake and Jenna on the benches. Woken by the soft buzzing of the timer of Avon's chronometer, Jenna had seen Avon reach over the sleeping Vila to rummage inside the dashboard. The ﬂier's nightlight had just been strong enough to show him take out the ﬁrst aid box. Before she'd been able to decide whether to confront him, he had put the box back and left the ﬂier.

Hearing a sound behind her, Jenna turned. Seeing Vila approach, she remarked testily: "My chronometer must have stopped."

"I didn't come to relieve you," he said. "Blake wants you inside. We're going to hold a conference."

Hope ﬂared up in Jenna. "Did he made contact with Liberator?"

"No. But Avon has a piece of news."

"What news?" "He won't say until we're all present." Vila grinned. "It's annoying Blake no end."

Her curiosity roused, Jenna followed him inside. She found the others in the ﬂier, Avon again in the pilot's seat and Blake and Cally on one of the benches. Jenna sat down at Blake's free side while Vila slumped down onto the other bench, pulling up his feet and leaning one arm over the back of the empty commander's seat.

"Well, Avon?" Blake asked, his voice exaggeratedly patient. Avon gestured at the dashboard. "I've been doing some adjustment on the upward scanner, increasing its range. It's rather primitive and the information is very crude, but it tells us something interesting."

He paused, clearly waiting for the question.

Before Blake could explode, Jenna said: "Out with it, Avon."

He inclined his head in a slight, mocking bow. "There's a large object above us, just out of Federation radar range."

Jenna wasn't impressed. "One of Rozel's seventeen moons, no doubt."

Avon shook his head. "The echo is too small for a moon. Besides, Rozel's moons aren't geostationary. This object is, somewhat to the Southeast of us, which makes it precisely above the Factory complex."

"Liberator!" Vila exclaimed. "You mean she's back."

"I doubt she's ever been away."

Vila frowned. "You're telling us she's been there all the time?"

"Then why can't we make contact?" Cally asked. "

"The communicator must have broken down," Blake said.

Avon snorted. "The auto-repair would have dealt with that by now."

"Then what?" Jenna asked.

"There's only one logical assumption."

"Gan," Vila said. "You mean he's fallen ill."

"Or dead. Or gone amok, if his limiter has malfunctioned again."

"There is another possibility," Jenna said, longing to wipe the I-did-warn-you sneer from Avon's face. "Gan may have been taken prisoner. Someone else can have boarded Liberator."

"You mean they're waiting for us up there?" Vila exclaimed.

"In that case they would have let Gan teleport us up," Avon said, adding to Jenna: "I did think of that possibility, but it doesn't make sense. Liberator's silence can only mean one thing: Gan is alone up there, and out of action."

"But we need Gan to activate the teleport." Vila stared at the others, panic looming on his face. "If he can't, we're marooned here."

* * * * * *

"No," Blake said. "If we can't teleport, we'll have to ﬁnd another way for returning to Liberator."

"I thought you'd come to that conclusion," Avon mumbled.

Blake leaned forward. "We need to ﬁnd a shuttle or spacecraft. Maybe we can use this ﬂier?"

"No," Jenna said. "It has no life support system."

"These things can't even reach cloud level," Avon added.

Blake shrugged off his disappointment. "Then we'll have to go to the spaceport and see what we can ﬁnd there."

"Steal a ship, you mean," Jenna said.

Cally nodded, looking eager. "We can use the ﬂier to go to the spaceport."

Blake asked Avon: "Does you tinkering have left us enough power?"

"To start, yes. Once in motion the ﬂier will recharge itself."

"But we can't sneak up on the spaceport," Jenna said. "They'll have us on their detectors before we're halfway."

"Ah." Avon gave a smug smile. "I've been working on something else besides the radar." He gestured at the open dashboard panel. "I've built a deﬂector shield."

"Glad to hear my toiling lead to something," Vila said. "What is it supposed to do?"

"Keep us from their detectors. It's a crude concept, not suitable for something of Liberator's size, but on this ﬂier it should work."

"Clever," Vila drawled. "Hasn't got a chance of working, if you ask me."

"How long will it take to reach the spaceport?" Blake asked.

"About ﬁve standard hours," Avon replied.

"If we get started now," Jenna said, "we'll be able to get the full beneﬁt of the sun to power the craft and maximise our speed."

"Also," Avon added, "we'll be arriving at the end of a busy day, when the personnel's eager to go home."

"Right," Blake said. "Let's get ready."

Avon rose. "I'll go ﬁrst." He alighted from the craft and limped to the cave entrance.

Blake looked at the others. "What's the matter with him?"

"He hurt his ankle," Cally said.

"On watch?," Jenna asked.

"No, back in the complex."

Blake felt a surge of anger. "Then why didn't he tell us?"

"Pride and stupidity?" Jenna suggested, adding softly: "So that's it!"

"What do you mean?" Cally asked her.

"Tonight I woke up when he rose to go on watch. I saw him rummaging in the ﬁrst aid box. He must have taken that painkiller."

"He didn't," Cally said. "I gave it to Blake this morning."

"You should have given it to Avon," Blake said, aware he should be grateful but feeling resentment instead.

"He refused, saying that you were more in need of it." Cally met his furious gaze squarely. "I respected his wish."

"He probably didn't fancy the idea of having to carry you on his back," Vila said.

"Avon isn't the sacriﬁcial type, Blake," Jenna added.

Isn't he?, Blake thought, feeling as if he'd been hit in the stomach. 


	3. Chapter 3

Aware that someone was prodding him, Vila reluctantly opened his eyes. It was Blake, leaning over from the command chair. "Wake up, Vila, we're there."

"Just when I had this delightful dream..."

Wriggling into an upright position, he stretched, trying to get rid of the pins and needles in his limbs. With Avon and Cally stretched out on the benches, he'd had to make do with the floor. After Avon had manoeuvred the flier out of the cave, Jenna had taken over the steering. Blake, who'd confiscated the commander's seat, had told both Avon and Cally to try to get some sleep. As usual, nobody had cared about him, Vila thought resentfully.

"We're where?" he asked.

"At the spaceport," Cally said.

"You mean Avon's shield worked?"

Vila saw they were parked in the shadow of an enormous hangar. They seemed to be at the back of the spaceport, the building blocking their view on the main section.

"This is the main hangar," Jenna said. "All space-worthy craft will be in here."

"And this back entrance is conveniently hidden from sight of the other buildings," Cally added.

"Right," Blake said. "You stay here, Avon. The rest of you, come with me."

"No, Blake," Jenna protested. "It's better that you stay here with Avon."

"Jenna's right," Cally said. "There may be people inside. If we have to run for cover you'll hold us up."

"You're not fit for a fight, Blake," Jenna argued.

"But you can see he's poised for action." Vila produced his most ingratiating look. "I'll stay with Avon."

"We need you to open the locks." Before he knew what was happening, Cally was pushing him through the door. "Come, Vila."

"Now wait a minute -"

"Shut up!" Jenna said, jumping down after him.

Pushed on by the women, Vila stumbled to the door.

"Hurry," Cally said. "Before Blake decides to join us."

Vila was already taking his tools from his pocket. "This is an easy one. There - even Avon could have done it." He stepped aside. "I'd better go back to the others now."

Jenna grabbed his arm. "Stay, Vila."

Holding her gun ready, Cally cautiously opened the door just wide enough to pass, then stepped inside. //Follow me.//

Prodded by Jenna, Vila slid through the door, muttering: "I wish you'd stop pushing me around!"

"You must be used to that," Jenna said.

//Keep still. There are people around.//

The brightly-lit hangar looked even bigger from the inside than the outside, Vila reflected. The section they were in was filled with all kinds of spare parts, maintenance vehicles, boarding steps and other assorted devices, providing ample cover. The hangar held only four spacecraft, neatly parked in a row. Three of them were small, bright red vehicles of similar design, and the fourth an old and battered looking larger ship. Mechanics in green-grey overalls were busy on one of the red ships, using a kind of drill that made a loud, wailing sound.

"We haven't got much choice," Jenna whispered. "That SF 44 is our only option. Those Moonhoppers are faster, but too small. They have life support for two persons only. The SFs systems can sustain up to seven."

Vila felt his spirits sink. "Looks like she'll disintegrate on lift off."

"How do you know she's ready for take off?" Cally asked softly.

Jenna shrugged. "We'll have to take that chance."

"If we follow the wall," Cally said, "we can stay under cover almost all the way." She pointed to the ladder leading up to the platform on the craft's airlock level. "Once up there we'll be clearly visible, but those technicians seem pretty occupied."

Vila tried to squeeze past the women. "I'll go and tell Blake that you've made your choice."

"Nice try," Jenna said, blocking his way. "But we need you to open the ship's airlock."

Cally set off towards the ladder. //Come on!//

Resignedly, Vila followed her, Jenna bringing up the rear. He expected a shout at any minute, but they reached the platform undetected. Hands trembling, he set to work on the lock, which was a lot more complicated than the hangar door's.

He was just beginning to think they would make it when the dreaded shout came.

"Hey, you up there! What do you think you're doing?"

"Damn!" Jenna hissed.

"Hurry up, Vila," Cally said.

A bleep sounded. "Guards, intruders in the hangar. Repeat, intruders in the-"

Cally let of a shot and the voice fell silent.

But a siren began to wail. Working frantically, Vila tried to block out the noise of sliding doors, running footsteps, shouts, gunfire. Suddenly a blast sizzled past him, leaving a scorch-mark on the airlock door. Vila yanked at the last wire and the door slid open. He stumbled into the airlock, Jenna and Cally on his heels.

"Shut the door!" Jenna yelled at him, letting off a shot.

Vila was already reaching for the inside control panel. "I'll have to reconnect the sensor-links. Three minutes."

"Make it faster!" Jenna said, firing another shot.

Cally moved to the rear. "Let's get inside."

"We can't," Jenna said. "On this type the inner door won't open until two full minutes after the outer is closed."

Cally came back to the entrance. "We haven't got any cover." She let off a volley of blasts. "Our only chance is to keep them pinned down."

"Hurry up, Vila," Jenna said, turning to look at the panel.

A blast flashed past his head. With a cry, Jenna fell down.

lnvoluntarily looking her way, Vila saw blood colour her blond hair.

* * * * * *

In the flier Blake stared furiously at the hangar door. He hated having others make decisions for him. He hated even more sitting idle while his companions were risking their lives. "I should not have let them go!"

Avon gave him a cold stare. "Cally is a trained guerrilla fighter and Jenna can kick the balls off any trooper. They don't need you to hold their hands."

"I do know that!" Another thing Blake couldn't stand was being patronised, especially by Avon. "Still, they may need help."

"What help can _you_ provide?" Avon's voice was utterly scornful. "With your gun hand out of commission you can't even shoot straight. In your condition you're a liability they can do without."

"I don't think so." Blake felt his hands itch to lash out at the arrogant face. Avon's objections only served to strengthen his determination. "I'm going after them."

"Don't be an idiot, Blake!"

Gripping the doorway handle, Blake slung his legs outside. "Don't worry, Avon. We won't leave without you."

Jumping down, he caught Avon's superior smile. "You can't leave without me. Stealing a Federation spacecraft isn't the same as stealing a hovercar from some hapless civilian, Blake! The computer systems have built in securities, refusing access to any unauthorised person. I'm the only one capable of overriding them."

Now that was interesting. Blake raised his eyebrows. "So spacecraft computer systems design is another speciality of yours?"

"Actually, yes. I worked on a revising project for all spacecraft systems. I put in some safeguards they're unlikely to have detected. It's even possible my admittance code-"

His words were cut off by the public address system above the door coming to life: "Guards, intruders in the hangar..."

Cursing, Blake began to run, paying no heed to Avon who was shouting something made unintelligible by the wailing of a siren. Fumbling for his gun, he rushed through the doorway, bumping his hurt shoulder against the partly opened door. He ran along the spare parts and maintenance bits, until he saw a group of guards shooting at the largest spaceship and the platform in front of it. From where he stood he couldn't see the airlock but the enemy must be concentrating their fire on it.

Holding his gun awkwardly in his left hand, Blake sought cover behind a large crate and began to shoot at the guards. His blasts went wide, only distracting them for a second. Blake tore his arm from the sling, grimacing at the fleeting thought that he should be grateful for the painkiller. Taking his gun in his right hand, he felt gun blasts speed past him — from behind. Two guards fell down. The others scattered to the nearest cover.

Blake found Avon at his side, panting and supporting himself with his free hand on the crate.

"They're up there," Blake said.

"I know." Avon gestured upwards with his gun. "You go first. I'll cover. Quick!"

"No, Avon, _you_ go first..."

"For logic's sake, Blake! Up there you'll have a better angle to cover _me_!"

Blake ran to the ladder. He wasn't entirely sure of the validity of Avon's argument but it was a face-saver for both of them.

The climb did not do his shoulder much good. Although the painkiller held strong, he could feel a wetness that indicated his wound had started to bleed again. And he wasn't as fit as he thought. The ladder was only about six metres high, but halfway he was already panting like he'd run a marathon. "Jenna, Cally," he called. "It's me!" No use in getting shot by his own side.

//Blake!// Cally's relief came through in her reply.

Reaching the platform, Blake looked down. Avon had already started his run for the ladder. He was limping heavily and Blake could see him gritting his teeth. When he reached the ladder, Avon began to haul himself up on his arms, using only his good leg for support and making remarkable speed.

The shooting had stopped. Blake let off a few volleys just to discourage the guards from leaving their boltholes.

Avon's head came up, then his body. Cally reached over to support him.

"Inside!" he panted. "We're a perfect target here."

"Vila?" Cally called, helping Avon to the airlock.

"Ready."

Following the others, Blake saw Vila standing flat against the airlock wall next to the control panel. The light from the hangar shone only a short length into the airlock, leaving the back in the dark. Vila pushed a button on the panel and the outer door began to slide shut. An automatic light came on. Numbers appeared on a display on the panel, counting down the seconds until the opening of the inner door.

Blake felt his heart miss a beat on seeing Jenna lying against the inner door, blood streaking her hair and face.

"What happened?" he asked, kneeling at her side.

Relief surged through him when he could feel a pulse in her neck.

"She was hit," Cally explained. "The bolt just grazed her head, I think. I can't feel any damage to the skull."

"Her pulse is strong," Blake said.

Cally nodded. "I don't think it's serious. Scalp wounds do bleed a lot."

"Three fifth of your assault force out of action," Avon said. "Congratulations, Blake!"

Ignoring him, Blake saw the numbers reach zero. A click and the inner door slid open.

"Right," he said. "Avon, you start on those security overrides. Vila, help me bring Jenna inside."

"I hope we can bring her round," Vila's face was grey with worry. "You realise that we need Jenna to fly this thing, do you?"

* * * * * *

Trust Vila to state the obvious, Avon thought, hopping to the pilot's seat, the middle of three facing the dashboard. Sitting down, he activated the flight computer and entered his personal code. "You'll find the first aid box behind the copilot's seat," he said over his shoulder to Cally. "I could do with a painkiller."

The aching had become steadily worse. Initially the ankle had only hurt when he'd put weight on it. Now the pain was constant. It did not feel anymore like a simple sprain. He hoped that Liberator's medical unit would be up to the job.

With satisfaction he saw the computer giving him clearance. His entry code was still valid. How typical of the Federation's bureaucracy, to put someone on the list of most wanted criminals but omit to remove his access authority from the security systems.

Cally reached over him, holding a small pill. "This will keep your head clear."

"Thanks." He took the pill and swallowed it. "What about Jenna?"

Cally shook her head. 'We've made her comfortable." She gestured at one of the rear seats where Blake and Vila were strapping Jenna into the safety belts. "But I think it will be some time before she comes round."

"We're doomed," Vila cried. "Those fellows are probably already contemplating how to best destroy us!"

"No," Blake said, straightening his back. "_You_ take us up, Avon!"

Avon stared at him in disbelief. "You're crazy!"

"You said yourself you know the systems."

"Yes, Avon," Cally said. "You told us you know the function of every instrument."

"In theory. I've never had to fly the damn things!"

"You've made a good job of piloting Liberator," Blake said.

Vila nodded. "Delicate hands — I told you. And you got that flyer under control very quickly."

//You can do it, Avon,// Cally added.

"Avon?" Blake's voice was neutral.

Bitterness overwhelmed him. "What choice do I have."

Blake gave him a level stare. "You know the answer to that."

Yes, when I don't do it Blake will try it himself, crashing us for sure!

"Cally, you take the co-pilot's seat." Avon pointed to his right, then to the seat on his left. "Vila, you watch the scanners." That banned Blake to a back seat - one thing he could do without was Blake scrutinising his every move.

"Right, strap yourselves in tightly. Lift off is the most difficult and dangerous part of a flight," Avon said maliciously, not seeing why he should be the only one sweating. He activated the various instruments. "Cally, we'll have to forego the pre-flight routine. Just check that we have green on the power, sensors and brake-release."

He showed her the relevant indicators, giving a quick summary of the functions of the instruments in front of her. "That's the speed indicator. We'll have to go from zero to three within the first ten seconds to keep our upward velocity, then to five to escape the planet's gravity." Seeing her nod, he turned to Vila. "Keep your eyes on the screens. This one gives you forward vision and the other is linked to the rear scanners. The navigation computer should keep us out of any of the moon's paths, but there might be other space craft around."

"What about the hangar?" Vila asked.

"I can give the command to open the roof from here." Avon flicked a switch. "Standard safety procedure."

"It's working," Vila said, watching the screen in front of him. "The roof's opening."

No time for rehearsal. Avon gave full power. The roar of the engine, deafening on the ground, was tempered in here. He felt himself being pushed into his seat while the craft shot upwards.

"You took half the roof with you," Vila said.

"Good, that will give them something to occupy their minds."

"Speed passed three," Cally reported. Avon began to relax a bit. With the computers to do the work it WAS possible for a technician to fly a spacecraft.

"Rear scanners report two launches," Vila yelled. "We're being followed!"

Cursing, Avon leaned over to study the dots on Vila's screen. "That must be those Moonhoppers."

"Jenna told us they're faster than this ship," Cally said, her voice matter-of-fact.

Vila gave them an anxious gaze. "They're not armed, are they?"

"All Federation craft have the means to defend themselves against pirates," Avon said. "Ours too. Vila, you're at the gunners position. Press that large switch to your left, that will activate the battle computer." For a moment he felt regret about having denied Blake the place. But Vila was quick enough when his own survival was at stake. Avon rattled off a string of commands, ending with: "Keep your eyes on the grid. When our pursuer is in the centre, press the red button."

"Speed past five," Cally announced.

Vila's hand came down on the red button. Staring at the screen, he let out a yell of triumph. "I've got him! Avon, I did it!"

Avon saw a mass of debris amid a dust cloud at the centre of the screen. The one dot left was veering away towards the edge.

"Vila, lock onto the other!" But he knew it was too late. Their second pursuer had gone out of range of their aft gun. "It'll try to hit us in the flank — our guns can only shoot forwards and backwards."

"Plasma bolt coming at us," Cally said. "Bearing true."

With the determination of despair Avon gripped the steering column in both hands. "Evasion course."

"Left, thirty." Avon moved the control, feeling the ship respond. It seemed too slow...

"Missed us!" Vila exclaimed.

"Cally," Avon said, suddenly feeling deadly calm, "give me a bearing for that ship. I want to go straight for him. Our only chance is to shoot him before he shoots us. Concentrate on evading incoming fire. Vila, be ready to shoot the moment you have him centred."

The next minutes were tense. Cally telepathed her instructions, cutting out the time it took the brain to absorb the spoken word and enabling him to react in time to avoid a second bolt.

//Back to left, twenty, Avon. We have him.//

From the comer of his eye Avon saw Vila press the button. The flare of the exploding ship lighted up the whole screen.

Vila let out a squeak of delight.

"What's all that noise good for?" came Jenna's irritated voice.

"I've never had such an awful flight."

"Jenna." Blake sounded concerned. "How do you feel."

"I've got a headache - not too bad."

"Cally will give you something for that."

Seeing the request on Cally's face, Avon nodded. The screen showed no other pursuers.

Cally left her seat. "Are you feeling dizzy, Jenna?"

"No. What happened? I remember, we were trying to steal a ship..."

Vila leaned over the back of his seat. "You've missed something! We had a real space battle. I shot down two ships."

Feeling totally drained, Avon left the explanations to the others. Turning the forward scanners to maximum range, he studied the data. Three large blobs that had to be moons. One smaller object. Avon instructed the computer to put the image on the screen, then felt a surge of relief and satisfaction. Liberator's distinct form was just discernible. Avon set in the course, then activated the automatic pilot. He'd be happy to leave the docking to Jenna.

* * * * * *

Blake sat impatiently waiting for Jenna to complete the docking procedure. In the seat next to him Avon sat relaxed, eyes closed, apparently totally unconcerned. Blake felt a vague irritation that a man who was unable to trust people's motivations could put so much trust in their skills. Avon had relied on Cally and Vila — Vila! — during the battle, and seemed now confident about Jenna being able to bring off the docking.

At least Jenna's wound seemed to have no lasting effects, but Blake was fretting about Gan. The fact that he didn't react to their attempts to make contact indicated that something was thoroughly wrong.

He remembered Avon's objections to leaving Gan alone on the ship. They had seemed petty and unwarranted at the time, reason for Blake to dismiss them. Now he shuddered at the thought of what might have happened. If Gan's limiter had started sending scrambled messages to his brain again, he could not only have done irreparable damage to Liberator, but to himself as well.

"Locked on," Jenna said.

Blake released his safety belt. "Open the airlock. I'll go first."

"Just charging in?" Avon asked, lazily opening his eyes.

"We don't know what we'll find," Blake said.

"Exactly." Avon held out a hand for Vila to help him up. "I'd keep your gun ready, if I were you."

"Are you suggesting we shoot Gan?" Blake enquired coldly.

"You can't be serious," Cally said.

Avon shrugged. "Feel free to wait until he's killed you all."

"He might be dead," Jenna said.

"Let's hope so."

After casting Avon a look which conveyed his loathing, Blake entered the airlock. The others followed him, Avon leaning on a protesting Vila.

"I'm delicate, you know. And you're not exactly a feather weight."

"Be glad you don't have to support Blake."

"He isn't stupid enough to twist his ankle while just running."

"No, he triggers a booby trap, which you no doubt would define as a more intelligent way to get hurt."

Waiting for the outer door to open, Blake said: "Vila, help Avon to the sickbay. See what you can do for him, Cally. Jenna, you get the ship out of this system. And put the sensors on full alert, we can expect pursuers as soon as that governor has contacted the nearest Federation base."

"What do we do with this ship?" Jenna asked.

"Dump it," Avon said. "It isn't worth salvaging. With a bit of luck they'll destroy it on sight, thinking we're still aboard."

The door slid aside. A flexible hose was sealed tightly to Liberator's hull around the starboard airlock. Blake took the three steps necessary to reach the door and activated the look. When the door opened, he hurried inside and through the inner door - Liberator had no delaying timer on its airlocks.

Apart from the soft humming of the machinery, Liberator seemed eerily quiet. His footsteps resounding in the corridors, Blake ran straight to the flight deck. Again he felt a bout of dizziness. He ignored it - he would go to the sickbay once he'd found out what happened to Gan.

The flight deck was empty. All systems seemed to be functioning normally.

"Zen," Blake said, "Where is Gan?"

"That answer cannot be given."

"Helpful, as always," commented Jenna, entering behind him.

"Get Liberator moving," Blake told her. "I'll check the rest of the ship."

Not waiting for Jenna's reply, he hurried to the teleport room. No sign of Can. The coordinates were still set for the complex on Rozel, he saw.

Blake decided to check the crew's quarters. If Gan had felt unwell, he could have gone to sleep in his cabin. Unless he'd gone to fetch something from the medical unit, but in that case Avon and Cally should have found him by now.

Gan's cabin was empty, but Blake thought he heard a sound from the nearest bathroom. Seeing the door being unlocked, he pushed the door button with a feeling of apprehension.

From the bath that seemed ridiculously small for his large body, Gan looked at him. He sat upright, his lower body covered by a mass of foam. Taking a puff of froth into his hands, Gan smiled - the happy, carefree smile of a content child.

Forming a circle with his thumb and forefinger, Gan brough this hand up to his mouth and blew a soap bubble.

* * * * * *

Cally entered the flight deck where the others, except for Gan, were already present. She saw that Avon had used the time it had taken her to bring Gan to his cabin after the examination, to clean himself up. Freshly shaven and his hair still damp, he exuded an air of almost clinical cleanliness. He was still dressed in the combat suit — none of them had taken time for a change of clothes. He sat on the couch, his bandaged left ankle stretched out in front of him. The ankle had been a mess, they'd had to cut the boot away because the swelling had made it impossible to remove it. The regenerator pad had been just able to cope.

Vila, slouching on the opposite couch, had also taken time for a shave. Blake, sharing the centre couch with Jenna, still sported his two days' stubble. His wound had already healed completely and not even left a scar.

"I've brought Gan to his cabin," Cally said, sitting down on Vila's couch.

"So we can discuss him freely," Avon drawled. "Not that it would make the slightest difference if he _was_ present."

//Avon,// she warned, realising that he was out to bait Blake, //this isn't the time to indulge in your favourite pastime.//

He scowled at her but Cally didn't miss the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"Well," Blake said, "what's the verdict, Cally."

"The medical computer can't find anything wrong with him."

"So it has to be his limiter again," Avon said.

"But last time he got violent," Jenna pointed out. "Now he's like a child..."

"_Less_ than a child," Avon cut in. "There isn't any intelligence — not that he was ever overly endowed - "

//Avon!//

A brief smile at Cally, then Avon went on: "Gan's left with nothing but his basic instincts for survival - eating, sleeping, keeping himself clean. All what you can call intelligence has been shut down. It's probably only due to a decent upbringing that we didn't find him dancing naked on the flight deck."

Blake asked: "And you think that's caused by his limiter, Avon?"

"Yes. It's meant to suppress his violence, but now it's suppressing all his conscious brain impulses."

Vila looked worried. "You mean his limiter has gone on the blink again?"

"No," Avon said. "This isn't a malfunction. It's deliberate programming. I suspect it was meant to paralyse him completely, but the perpetrator underestimated Gan's strength."

Jenna frowned. "Are you saying this is professor Kayn's work?"

"But it can't be," Vila said. "I mean, Gan was fine right up until we went down to Rozel."

"After Blake's threat of destroying his hands I imagine the professor found it prudent to make sure that his handiwork would not come to light until we were a long way off." Avon produced his superior smile. "Kayn was supposed to be a genius, wasn't he? It must have been child's play for him to build a timer into the limiter."

"Activating it exactly a week after the operation," Jenna said. "It makes sense."

"But more important than discussing what is past and done," Cally said, "is deciding what we can do about it."

* * * * * *

Blake nodded, he'd been about to say the same. Finding the others, except Avon, looking expectantly at him, he said: "It's obvious. We must find a neurosurgeon to either remove or repair that limiter."

"Repeating last time's debacle." Avon gave an exaggerated sigh. "The failure to learn from mistakes seems to be ingrained in the human nature."

Forcing himself to keep calm, Blake enquired: "I assume you have a better idea?"

"Yes," Avon replied. "Instead of letting some nosy surgeon poke his nose into Liberator, I suggest we get Gan into a proper hospital. I've had Zen do some research. Denebulus, which is only four days away, maintains a policy of strict neutrality. Its main settlement, Carpe Diem, has one of the best hospitals in the galaxy. Cash payment, any currency accepted, no questions asked. They're charging exorbitant fees, but with the content of Liberator's strongroom that won't be a problem."

"I've heard of Carpe Diem," Jenna said. "They're a bunch of nasty male chauvinists. Women have no rights there— they aren't allowed to vote, do business, or own any property. I've heard they're not even entitled to proper medical treatment."

Avon shrugged. "It seems unlikely that someone will mistake Gan for a woman."

"What alternatives do we have?" Blake asked. "Outer Eden and Fellina, but none of them are reachable within a fortnight," Avon said. "And we don't know what effects the continuing repression may have on Gan's brain."

Cally asked: "You think that the strain will do permanent damage?"

"That seems a logical assumption."

It was something they had to take into account. "All right," Blake said. "Carpe Diem seems our only option. Jenna,lay in a course for Denebulus. Standard by eight."

"Who's going to accompany Gan?" Cally asked.

"I'm not," Jenna said. "They wouldn't want to do business with a woman anyway."

"I'll go." That was something Blake didn't need to think about.

"Bravo," Avon said. "I thought the object was to keep our identity secret. Your face is known throughout the galaxy."

Blake glared at him. "You said they don't ask questions."

"They don't, but flaunting your identity in their faces is stupid! Even you should be able to grasp that."

Blake held on to his patience with difficulty. "All right, Avon. Who do you suggest?"

"It's obvious: Gan will want to have his friend at his side."

"What? Me?" Vila jumped up. "Oh no, I'm not going to Carpe Diem. Do you know what they do to thieves there?"

"Cut off their hands?" Jenna asked?

"Worse! They castrate you!"

"Only the men," Avon said. "Although I imagine they have a suitable punishment for women too."

"This is beside the point," Cally said.

"I'm not going," Vila maintained. "I'm not going to risk my manhood for Gan!"

Blake gave him a hard stare. "I thought you were friends, Vila."

"That was before —" Vila caught himself, looking uncomfortable.

"Before his limiter malfunctioned," Blake finished coldly.

"Well, it's difficult to be mates with someone who can't distinguish his friends from his enemies." Vila's brown eyes shifted nervously from Blake to the floor. "Dangerous."

"He isn't dangerous now," Blake said. "You GO, Vila!"

Jenna held up her hand. "Wait a minute. Whoever goes will need to make the financial arrangements. I don't trust Vila with that amount of money."

"Nice," Vila muttered. "I'm sent down to a place where they want to turn me into a eunuch but they can't bring themselves to trust me!"

"You don't have to," Avon told Jenna. "I'll go with him."

"You?" she sneered. "Don't tell me you are volunteering for a deed of compassion!"

"Of course not." Avon rubbed his bandaged ankle. "This doesn't feel right..."

"The medical computer said it will now just need a few days of rest," Cally said.

"That's only a machine," Avon replied. "I want to seek a second opinion."

Blake thought of the further depleting of Liberator's treasure room. "That will be expensive..."

"Oh, I see," Avon scorned, the hurt clear in his voice. "You're prepared to spend a capital on a half-wit like Gan, while I'm not worth a fraction of that amount."

Blake realised he'd been insensitive. Avon's insistence on cold logic made you forget that he was a human being. "That's not what i meant and you know it, Avon! If you insist on a second opinion, you'll have one, and the money for further treatment if necessary."

Avon's face was unreadable, although for a moment Blake thought he saw a sparkle in the dark brown eyes. "Thank you."

"Well, then I can stay here," Vila said hopefully. "Avon can handle things on his own."

Blake was in a vindictive mood. "You go and keep your _friend_ company, Vila!" 


	4. Chapter 4

Vila followed Avon through the exit door of the hospital, glad to leave the smell of disinfectants behind. Gan had settled in happily and the surgeon who'd examined him had assured them that the operation would have a high chance of success.

Earlier that morning the three of them had teleported to a quiet corner of the hospital gardens. Vila had been nervous about Gan turning violent, but he'd gone with them meekly, doing what he was told and showing not the slightest interested in his surroundings. Initially the hospital receptionist had told them to make an appointment for next month, the earliest time the surgeon had free for a consult. Vila had derived some satisfaction from Avon not taking kindly to that. The Alpha arrogance, acid tongue and tenacity plus the mentioning of a bonus fee had resulted in the receptionist contacting the surgeon, who found a gap in his schedule for that very day.

Avon had handed over the money for Gan's treatment — the hospital insisted on payment in advance. After that they'd been told to come back the next morning at eight to pick up Gan. If they came later, the hospital would charge for another day.

"Where are you going." Vila asked when Avon began to walk to the exit gate.

"Rent a hovercar. There's an agency just outside the gate."

"I thought you wanted to consult a doctor for your ankle?"

"I've decided to put my trust in Liberator's facilities."

Hurrying after him, Vila saw the obvious: "You never planned to go to a doctor here."

"Correct, Vila." Avon's smile was insufferably smug. "But I wanted some pocket money."

"Why?"

"Recreation. At the other side of the town is a large entertainment centre. It has everything you can dream of: shops, restaurants, theatres, a health bath, swimming pool, games arcade, casino..."

Vila felt a surge of anticipation in his loins. "Massage parlours?"

Avon's mocking gaze made clear he knew the euphemism. "Those too." He took the wad of banknotes for his consultation from his pocket. "This is enough to buy us some well earned recreation."

Dazed, Vila waited outside the rental office. Soon a small car hovered from the adjacent garage, Avon at the wheel. Must be the cheapest available, Vila thought sourly, abandoning a vague image of them driving through the town in a posh car.

When Vila had settled in the passenger seat, Avon said: "You'd better adjust your chronometer. Set it on code three-five-seven. A Denebulusian day is about three hours longer than an Earth one, but they keep to the 24 hour cycle by making each hour last longer. Local time is a quarter past eleven."

While Vila set his chronometer, Avon continued: "The parlours won't open until the afternoon, so we have time for a bit of reconnaissance and a leisurely lunch."

Vila still couldn't believe his luck. "You really mean it? I can relax until we're going to pick up Gan?"

Avon gave him a quick smile, returning his gaze swiftly to the traffic in front of him. "Until an hour before it's time to pick up Gan. Then I have a job for you."

Alarm bells began ringing loudly in Vila's head. "Oh no, Avon, you're not going to get me to steal anything _here_. If they catch me—"

"They won't," Avon said. "I've worked it all out."

"Oh yeah! You sitting waiting in safety while I risk my manhood..."

"I'll be right beside you, Vila. I'm not going to let you loose on this on your own."

Despite himself, Vila found his curiosity roused. "What exactly are you after?"

"Six million Goldinos, which is about eight and a quarter million credits."

"Six million..." Vila felt his head reel, not taking in the exchange amount. "Where do they keep such an amount in cash?"

"At the Casino, it's the security they have to keep by law. The money's in a special safe, apart from where the day earnings are kept. And it's all in large denomination notes, easy to take away."

"How do you know all this?"

"From Zen's databanks. It's amazing what a wealth of information Liberator's owners have gathered," Avon said. "I bet they didn't fill the treasure room with the earnings of their honest labour."

"You mean they nicked the lot?"

"That seems to be the logical assumption."

Vila's greed began to override his fears. If Avon was willing to go with him the risk had to be minimal. "So, what's the plan."

"Simple. You sneak out of the parlour at seven. I'll be waiting for you in the car. The Casino will be closed and deserted at that time. Breaking into the building will be easy, with me tackling the security systems and you dealing with the locks. We open the safe, grab the money and get out. That won't take more than half an hour, leaving us just enough time to return to the hospital and pick up Gan. By the time the theft is discovered, we'll be back on Liberator and already leaving the star system."

His fears forgotten, Vila looked at Avon in overt admiration. "Now that's what I call a clever plan!"

* * * * * *

Contentedly Avon stood watching Vila working on the lock of the casino's safe. All was going to plan. The breaking in had gone without a hitch, bringing them ahead of their schedule. As he had expected, the low crime rates caused by the blooming economy and severe punishments had made the persons in charge of the casino's security lax. A far less able technician than Avon could have disabled the automated security system. Granted, it needed someone of Vila's special talents to open the locks.

Concentrating, he tried to follow Vila's movements, eager to improve his own lockpicking skills.

"Did you know," Vila said, without looking up from his work, "that they don't serve any alcohol in those parlours?"

"Is that so?" Avon asked innocently. When settling Vila in, he's secretly handed the woman an extra banknote and warned her not to let Vila get drunk. She'd kept her promise — although rosy with contentment, Vila was stone cold sober.

"Yes, Lyssa said that they don't want their clients to become drunk - it's a waste of their efforts if they can't remember the treatment the next morning."

Vila put his probe back in his pocket and took out a scalpel-like tool. "There's something in it, I suppose..." Very carefully he slid the scalpel into the lock, wriggled it and stood back. "There we are."

The door of the safe sprung open.

Avon felt his heartbeat quicken at the sight of the neatly stacked bundles of banknotes.

At his side, Vila was breathing loudly, whispering: "Just look at that!"

"Not bad." Avon reached under his jacket to untie the two money belts he was wearing round his waist. Handing one to Vila, he said: "Here, put the money in there. You empty the upper shelf and I the lower."

They worked in silence. Putting the notes neatly into the belt's compartments, Avon saw Vila stashing them randomly and sloppily. Having finished counting and securing his share - exactly three million Goldinos, Liberator's memory banks had been accurate — he fastened the belt round his waist. With the jacket loosely hanging over it, it was invisible.

"Come here!" Grabbing Vila's belt, Avon quickly took out the worst stashed notes and put them away properly. Finished, he handed the bulging belt back to Vila. "Put this on. Then relock the safe. We don't want to bring the theft to their attention."

"Yes." After securing the belt, Vila gave the safe door a flourished push. "That should take only a few-"

The door clicked shut and an alarm began to blare.

* * * * * *

"Idiot!" Avon hissed.

Amid rising panic Vila realised his fault. "It must have had an extra safeguard..."

"We'll discuss it later. Run!"

Trying to keep his thoughts away from culling irons, Vila followed Avon out of the vault, up the stairs, through long corridors. Tears of relief sprang in his eyes when he saw Avon kick open the back door through which they'd entered.

Panting, he forced himself to keep up the pace. Avon was already halfway through the ally to the street where they'd left the car. The place was quiet, except for their footsteps. No sirens here.

Avon disappeared round the corner. Sweat dripping from his forehead, Vila desperately kept running. He was going to make it...

"Stop, or I'll shoot!"

With a moan of despair, Vila tapped into spare energies, increasing his speed. Reaching the corner, he suddenly felt a stinging pain all over his left arm.

"Ouch!" Vila stumbled into the street. "Avon! Don't leave me!"

A few metres from the car, Avon turned round, thunder on his face. For a moment it seemed to Vila that he really _would_ leave him, then Avon came running back.

"I'm hit."

"Fool!" Grabbing him by his uninjured arm, Avon dragged him along to where the hovercar was parked inconspicuously amongst a row of others. Gratefully Vila leaned against the cool metal while Avon opened the door. Then he was grabbed by his clothes and forcefully pushed inside.

"Shove over!" Obeying the hissed command, Vila heard Avon take in his breath, then curse.

"Are you hurt?"

"Yes, in the leg." Falling into the driver's seat, Avon reached for the controls. They were speeding away even before the door had slammed shut. "But it doesn't feel too bad. No laser blast or high speed bullet, that would have cut half the leg off..."

Trust Avon to start analyse things, Vila thought through his pain.

Avon steered the hovercar at top speed along the virtually empty streets. "We've got to lose them."

"Lose them?" Vila echoed, a feeling of superiority mingling with his despair. "You really are green, aren't you? We've been hit by tracer pellets. Those guys aren't going to chase us, they're going to sit in front of their monitor keeping track of us. They'll wait until we've crawled into a hole, too exhausted to fight back. Then they'll come to pick us up."

The truth hurt, yet Vila felt a perverse satisfaction in imparting the bad news. "We're marked Avon! There isn't a place on this planet where we can hide."

* * * * * *

"What?!" Avon's quick mind absorbed the implications. "Damn!" From the corner of his eye he saw Vila bring his teleport bracelet — on his undamaged arm — up to his mouth. "No, Vila!"

"But we've got to go back to Liberator!"

"_No_! If they can trace us all over the planet, they'll be able to trace us to the ship."

"We can outrun their space fleet."

Disgusted by Vila's simplicity, Avon snarled: "And do you think Blake will agree to abandon Gan? There's an even chance he'll hand us over to the cops personally."

"You don't believe that, Avon... You do?" The seed of doubt was visibly growing in Vila's mind. "Then what can we do?"

"Get those pellets out." With sickening clarity Avon saw their only option. Forcing the pain away to a back corner of his mind, he began to feed instructions into the hovercar's small navigation computer. "I'm setting a course for the wastelands beyond the town. With the controls blocked this thing will hover on until the fuel runs out. That will take hours and with the tracers still showing on their monitor, they won't come looking for us until the car's crashed."

Searching for something to immobilise the steering wheel, he found a windscreen cleaning rag in the dashboard locker. He tore it in two, stuffing one half into the base of the wheel and using the other to secure the speed lever in the full forward position.

"Then we teleport up, have our wounds treated, take clean clothes and go back to fetch Gan." Consulting his chronometer, Avon felt his hopes rise. "It can be done — just."

Vila regarded him with scepticism. "Aren't you forgetting that Blake will want to know what we've been up to?"

"It's night on Liberator. With us gone, Jenna will be on watch."

"She'll call for Blake immediately."

"Not if we cut her in — offer her a share of the loot."

Vila seemed to sink into his seat. "Do we have to?"

"It's our best bet." Avon smiled through his pain. "We can halve the damage. Give me your money belt."

"Why? — Ouch!" Vila said when Avon bumped into his hurt arm while reaching for the belt.  
  
Untying the straps, Avon explained: "While you distract her, l'll hide it. Let her think we've got just the three million." He folded the belt and stuffed it under his jacket. "Now, Vila, give me your tools. We can use the probe as metal detector and that knife to remove the pellets."

"You mean you're going to cut..." Horror appeared in Vila's eyes. "You can't do it! Let's call Liberator."

"I told you, we can't lead them to the ship!" Avon held Vila's arm forcefully down.

Vila's face turned white. "You mean you really want to—" He fainted.

Cursing, Avon took the instruments from Vila's pocket. For a moment he was tempted to shove him out. But no, he would never be able to give Blake a convincing reason for loosing him. Besides, his talent for opening locks was useful.

In a way, Vila's fainting made things easier, Avon reflected while cutting away the blood-soaked sleeve. Now he didn't have to worry about hurting him. Determinedly, he set to the task. The pellets, embedded deep in the flesh, had small barbs that made their removal difficult and messy. By the time Avon had cut out the last one, the car seats and his clothes were covered with blood. Vila was still out, although soft moans were escaping from his lips.

Resolutely, Avon turned to the task of tending to his leg. He'd been hit in the left calf — not the easiest of places to reach. Before he was halfway through he felt like fainting himself. It was only his bloody-minded determination that kept him hang on to his wits. Gritting his teeth, he dug into his flesh and extracted the tiny pieces of metal. He just let the pellets drop, judging it unlikely that the tracing equipment would be sensitive enough to pick up the changed pattern.

The probe at last pronouncing him clear, relief surged through Avon. He leaned back in his seat, feeling completely drained, the pain now threatening to overwhelm him.

Vila began to stir. Right on cue, Avon thought grimly, activating his teleport communicator.

* * * * * *

"Liberator, come in. Liberator."

On the flight deck, Jenna hurried to the communicator. The request sounded urgent.

"Yes, Avon."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes. What is-"

"Bring me and Vila up. Now!"

She ran to the teleport room, flicking the switches as soon as she reached them.

For a moment Jenna was taken aback by the sight of Avon sitting on the floor with a softly whining Vila in his arms, their clothes covered in blood.

"You look terrible. What happened."

"An accident. Take Vila to the sickbay. Quickly, Jenna."

Jenna found herself automatically obeying the command. A brief affair with a deserter Space Captain, who'd been drowning his failure to adjust to civilian life in liquor, had left her with ample experience of hauling inebriated bodies about. But Vila was not drunk; the bloody gashes on his arm left no doubt about the cause of his state.

In the sickbay she deposited Vila on the nearest bed.

"Get me a painkiller," he breathed.

For a moment Jenna hesitated what should be done first: apply a sedative, try to staunch the bleeding or go back for Avon. Then it dawned on her that the sensible thing was to call for help.

"I'll get the others."

"No," Vila cried, gripping her tunic with his good hand and nearly tearing the purple gauzy fabric. "No time. Must get back for Gan."

"You're not going anywhere." She tried to release his grip but he held on tenaciously and she did not want to damage her favourite tunic.

"Really," Vila panted. "No need to get the others..."

"Vila's right." Avon came limping in, heading straight for the drug cabinet. "We don't want them involved."

Taking in the trouser leg cut off at the knee and the still dripping blood, Jenna asked. "What have you two been up to?"

Avon opened a drawer and took out two painkiller pads. "Never mind." Tossing one over to Vila, he sat down on the second bed and slapped the pad onto his wounded leg.

"Ah..." Holding his pad gingerly against his arm, Vila let out a deep sigh.

Jenna gave Avon a cold stare. "Give me one good reason for not calling Blake right now."

Holding her gaze, Avon reached under his jacket. Slowly he brought out a fat money belt. "A million Goldinos."

For a moment Jenna felt the room swirl round her. "You've been robbing a bank!"

"The Casino," Vila said, livening up now his pain abated.

Jenna pointed at the money belt. "How much is in there."

"Three million," Avon said. "We're prepared to let you have an equal share." He gave her an icy smile. "At the current exchange rate that's more than a one and a half million worth of Credits, for your co-operation and silence."

"It's what I call money easily earned," Vila added. "Considering WE did all the hard work."  
  
Jenna tried to work out the catch. There had to be one... "What do you want me to do?"

"Help patch us up and fetch us some clean clothes. Then teleport us to the hospital grounds."

It WAS money easily earned. But a lifetime of negotiating cutthroat deals told her she could get more out of this. "I want half!"

"What?" Vila gasped.

"No," Avon said.

"Suit yourselves." With deliberate slowness Jenna moved over to the communicator button on the wall. "Just let's see how much Blake is going to let you keep."

"All right, Jenna." His face unreadable, Avon held out the belt to her.

Counting her share, Jenna stifled a stab of conscience about deceiving Blake. A girl had to look after herself! Actually, she was doing Blake a favour by keeping silent; the knowledge about the crime would upset him no end.

Avon had walked over to the medical computer and was now holding a scanner to his leg while reading out the data.

"Damn! It will take the regenerator hours to heal those deep cuts!" He looked at his chronometer. ''We'll have to be at the hospital in ten minutes."

"What now?" Vila asked.

"We'll just have to staunch the blood and leave the rest for when we get back."

Vila frowned. "And how do we explain our wounds to Blake then?"

"Tell him we've been mugged. We'll work out the details later."

Vila didn't look convinced. "You think he's going to believe us?"

"He has no reason not to. And we can rely on Jenna to help us convince him."

She snorted. "You think he'll listen to me?"

Avon produced a derisive smile. "Listening isn't Blake's strong point. But he'll take your lead in accepting our story."

"You'd better come up with a good one!" Jenna handed back the depleted belt. "I take it you don't want me to put this in safekeeping for you?"

"That's right." He stuffed the belt inside his jacket. "Now get us some of that wound-sealing spray. That's used all over the galaxy, so we can get away by pretending it was applied at the hospital. And make sure you find us clothes that aren't recognisable as coming from Liberator."

Jenna helped spray the gel on to his leg, then on Vila's arm. While they waited for it to dry, she went to the wardrobe room.

When she came back, the gel had set, laying a film over the wounds that allowed the skin to breathe. While they changed Jenna cleaned up the sickbay, making sure no sign of their presence was left. The soiled clothes she put into the incinerator.

Vila began to moan that he really didn't feel up to a spot of planet hopping.

"You'll be all right," Avon said, heading for the door. Over his shoulder, he added: "Help him, Jenna."

She complied. When she reached the teleport room, dragging an unhelpful Vila along, she found Avon setting the co-ordinates. They stepped into the bay, Vila falling against Avon who, looking disgusted, had to put an arm round his shoulders to steady him.

"How are you going to explain his state at the hospital?" Jenna asked.

Avon shrugged. "Just another tourist having had a merry night indulging himself in the local spirits. No one's going to faint with surprise at that." He nodded at the console. "Put us down."

Jenna flicked the switches. Seconds later their bodies had dematerialised.

Seeing red spots on the floor, Jenna hurried away to get a cleaning pad. She had just time to mop up, change her own bloodied clothes and return to the flight deck before Blake would come to await Gan's return.


	5. Chapter 5

Entering the teleport room, Cally found Blake already present. "Any news?" she asked. Last evening Avon had called in to report that the operation had been a success. Gan's limiter was repaired — removing it had not been possible. He was resting comfortably and they would find a cheap hotel for the night.

Blake shook his head. "But they won't be long. Apparently the patients are discharged early."

Cally smiled. "Vila won't have been happy at having to wake up at this time in the morning."

"Can't harm him," Blake said, sounding grim. Cally could still sense the fury in him about Vila dropping his friend.

"Don't judge him too harshly. He'll get over his fear of Gan turning violent again."

Blake clenched his fists. "He was GLAD when Gan seemed recovered, he even joked! The thought of a recurrence didn't occur to him until Avon mentioned it."

"Avon will get over his fear too." Seeing Blake's surprise, she added: "It's something we all have to live with."

"Don't tell me you too want to abandon him."

"No, Blake. But we can't close our eyes to the facts! With that limiter in his head Gan is unpredictable. He tricked me once, I'm not going to let that happen again."

She was spared his comment by Avon's voice over the communicator: "Liberator, bring us up."

Blake moved the switches and the three men materialised. Gan looked his usual sturdy self but Avon was drawn and pale, Cally noticed. Vila too, seemed distinctly unwell. Probably drunk.

Blake held out his hands. "Welcome back, Gan."

"He needs rest," Avon said.

Gan stepped forward. "I'll go to my cabin." He sounded tired but cheerful.

"Lean on me," Blake said, putting an arm round his waist.

They left the room. Cally made to follow them when, from the corner of her eye, she saw Vila sway.

Reaching to catch him, she asked: "What's the matter?"

"Blood loss," Avon said, leaning over the console, apparently on the brink of fainting. "We got mugged. Vila was stabbed in the arm. Help him to the sickbay."

"And you?"

"I'll be fine in a minute."

Laying Vila's uninjured arm over her shoulder and leading him into the corridor, she called: //Blake, go to the teleport room and bring Avon to the sickbay. I think he's hurt.//

In the medical unit she helped Vila onto a bed.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Avon will tell you." Vila supported his left arm gingerly with his right hand. "It was terrible!"

Cally went to the drug cabinet. "Hold on, I'll give you stabilising shot. Then we'll see to your arm."

She looked up when Blake entered, supporting a limping Avon.

"Does your ankle still hurt?" she asked, feeling vague remorse; she'd considered his insistence on a second opinion just a childish tantrum.

"No," he said, allowing Blake to help him onto the free bed. "I got stabbed too."

"What happened?" Blake asked.

"On our way to the hospital we were attacked by a group of thugs armed with knives. Vila immediately started screaming his lungs out and that saved us. Our attackers fled before they could do any real harm. We were patched up at the hospital and given some clean clothes."

"Why didn't you tell me at once?" Blake asked.

"Because we haven't told Gan."

Vila nodded. "We didn't want to upset him."

Helping Vila out of his jacket, Cally said. "I can manage, Blake."

He looked doubtful. "Are you sure?"

"Of course she is," Avon snapped, bending to roll up his trouser leg. "It's merely a job for the regenerator pads."

//You go and relieve Jenna// Cally told Blake. His solicitousness wasn't going down well with Avon, who himself was clearly on a short fuse. The last thing anyone needed right now was a full-blown row between Liberator's dominant males. With relief she saw Blake leave.

Through the transparent blood staunching film the cuts in Vila's arm were clearly visible. Cally studied them with growing unease.

As if sensing her dismay, Vila asked, his eyes large with worry: "I'll be all right, won't I?"

"Yes." Feeling sick, she managed a reassuring smile. "I'll apply a regeneration pad."

She got two large white pads from the drawer. Fitting one of them over Vila's arm, she said: "I'll leave the sealing gel on, it will dissolve once the healing has been completed."

"By which time it will also have dealt with any harmful organisms that might have settled in the wounds,"Avon added.

Nodding, Cally took the other pad over to him. Before binding it in place, she took a good look at his wounds.

Confirmation, if she needed it! "It must have hurt."

"Oh, it was agony," Vila declared. "Pure agony."

"It could have been worse." Avon turned his head away. "Those thugs were pretty drunk, that's probably why they made such a mess."

Yes, don't you dare to look me in the eye, liar, Cally thought, pain and fury struggling for supremacy in her heart. She felt a desire to beat the complacency from his face. At the same time she wanted to hug him. Neither of which was advisable.

Cally strode to the medicine dispenser where she filled two large glasses with soma and vitamin solution. Stiffly, she handed one to Avon.

"Thank you," he said blandly.

Wait until our next unarmed combat lesson; you'll be sorry you ever asked for them! she vowed silently while helping Vila drink the other. She should be as angry with him as she was with Avon, yet Vila's treachery didn't hurt half as much.

"Now try to sleep," she said when he had finished. "The pads will need about three hours. I'll come back then. Use the communicator on the bedside to call me if you need anything before that time."

Cally went straight to the flight deck. As she had expected, Blake was alone on watch.

"How are they?" he asked.

"Better than they deserve." She hesitated just a second, then plunged straight in: "Blake, Avon was lying! Those cuts aren't stab wounds. l recognised them, they're the marks left by the removal of tracer pellets."

"_Tracer_ pellets?" Blake echoed, frowning.

"Tiny barbed bullets, which are charged with a tracer element. Once a victim is hit, he can be tracked through half the galaxy."

"Yes, I've heard of them," Blake said. "But tracer guns are used by the police and security guards, not by thugs."

"They weren't attacked by thugs, Blake. Thugs go for the chest or back, where they can do most damage..."

"While persons running away from the police have a fair chance of being hit in the extremities," Blake finished for her. After a pause, he asked almost pleading: "Can you be mistaken?"

"No. During a raid on a food silo on Saurian Major one of my companions got hit by a tracer projectile. We didn't want to abandon him but we couldn't lead the troopers to our hideout, so our only option was to remove the pellets - a task that fell to me."

Cally shuddered at the suddenly vivid memory. "I had only a knife. It was a hell of a task. He fainted halfway through and I can't blame him. But the wounds on Avon and Vila are of exactly the same kind as my handiwork left. And judging by the angle of the cuts on Avon's leg, he did the extraction himself. The back of the calf is an awkward place for do-it yourself surgery."

Blake nodded grimly. "I've always suspected that Avon is tougher than he looks. We can assume that Vila fainted at the first sight of blood."

"Especially his own." Putting things clear in her own mind, Cally continued: "Canisters with wound sealing spray are to be found in every emergency kit. And they must have stolen those clothes - they couldn't turn up in bloody rags at the hospital. Obviously they had to keep their wounds hidden, those tracer marks would have been give-away. The same reason why they couldn't go to the casualty department."

"So," Blake said, and Cally could see the truth hit home. "The weren't attacked by thugs, they got hit by police tracer bullets. Presumably while on the run. Maybe an overzealous cop recognised them..."

Clutching at straws, Blake! "Denebulus is neutral. Its police wouldn't go chasing Federation outlaws. To make them shoot, Avon and Vila must have been caught in the act of committing a crime. An old fashioned robbery, probably."

"Zen," Blake asked, "are we still within range of Carpe Diem's newscasts?"

"Affirmative."

"Of course." Cally went to the communication console. After some probing, she found a news channel. As item after item appeared on the main screen, she began to think that maybe she had been building a case out of thin air...The ninth item shattered her hopes.

_...NEWS HAS JUST COME IN ABOUT A BREAK IN AT THE CASINO. ACCORDING TO A POLICE SPOKESMAN THE ARREST OF THE TWO MEN SEEN FLEEING THE SCENE IS IMMINENT. NO MENTION HAS BEEN MADE OF ANY MONEY STOLEN BUT DAILY TURNOVER IS ESTIMATED AT BETWEEN ONE AND TWO MILLION GOLDINOS..._

Blake shook his head, as if unwilling to believe the evidence. "The choice of Carpe Diem, Avon wanting a second opinion, manipulating me into sending Vila with him — it was all a premeditated plan." His voice turned bitter. "And I fell for it!"

"They paid a price," Cally said.

"They betrayed my trust."

"But they did not leave Gan." Cally did not know why she was defending Avon but it seemed important. "They could have asked for teleport when they were hit. Have those tracers removed in the comfort of the sickbay after a painkiller shot."

"Would those tracers have been strong enough to be tracked all the way to Liberator?"

"Yes. That must be why Avon didn't ask for teleport, Blake. And he kept to the undertaking of waiting for Gan. That must count for something."

"Let's hope the pain and fear has taught them a lesson." Blake sighed. "At least the crime didn't pay."

"But it must have done," Cally said. "They are too complacent. Yes, Vila is moaning about the agony but if he'd been the victim of a random attack you'd expect him to whine "Why me?" incessantly. And beneath his composure Avon is positively purring."

"The odd million must make for a bulky packet," Blake mused. "Did they have anything like that on them?"

"I don't think so. Vila certainly not, I would have noticed it when I helped him with his jacket."

"And if Avon had anything hidden in his clothes, I would have felt it when I helped him to the sickbay," Blake said.

"Maybe they left it on the planet?"

"Not likely. They wouldn't want to go back there in a hurry." Suddenly Blake made a dash for the corridor, saying over his shoulder: "Avon must have hidden it in the teleport room. He was alone in there when I arrived."

Cally hurried after him. When she entered the room, Blake was kneeling in front of the teleport console, removing a panel.

"There!" Blake pulled out a brown canvas money belt. In silence Cally looked on while he opened a section, extracting a thick wad of high denomination banknotes.

"Goldinos." He counted them, then the other wads. The sum total made him whistle softly.

Cally felt a stab of pain. All that intellect, that _talent_—wasted on the pursuit of crime!

"Well," Blake said after a pause, as if reading her thoughts. "I suppose we must admire Avon's resourcefulness." He began to put the money back in the belt. "But I can't let them get away with it."

Cally nodded. "I agree they should not profit from their crime. But Blake, be careful. Avon is too useful to alienate irreversibly. Remember how close he came to leaving us, I think it was only Kayn's treachery that prevented him from seeking asylum on the space station."

Blake rose, clutching the belt. "He deserves a slap on the wrist, not a pat on the shoulder!"

"All I'm asking you is to consider carefully how to administer the slap. For all his faults, Avon can be a good loser." Cally saw she had his full attention now. //Think of that request from Verre's colonists you told me about.//

A gleam of understanding followed by mischief appeared in Blake's eyes. "Cally, I think you've hit on the perfect way to deal with this." Hiding the belt under his shirt, he stepped towards the corridor. "Leave it to me."

Although she felt reassured, it took some willpower to comply.

"I'll go back to the flight deck and take over your watch," Cally said, adding: //I trust you.//

* * * * * *

With buoyant steps Blake entered the sickbay. On the adjacent beds, both patients were lying with their eyes closed. Vila was snoring with abandon but Avon's breathing was too regular for sleep.

"Avon, Vila," Blake called. "I have some wonderful news."

Avon opened his eyes, looking distinctly unenthusiastic. "Let him sleep, Blake."

Blake raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Since when did you become concerned for Vila?"

"I'm not, it's merely that I find his snoring easier to bear than his prattle." Avon gave him a gauging, distrustful stare. "What is this wonderful news?"

"You know the Federation has retreated from Verre? The resistance of the colonists has paid off, the first success of the freedom movement in the Outer Worlds."

"Yes. I heard. But you can hardly attribute that feat to the Resistance. With Verre's few ore deposits mined out, the Federation has no further use for the planet. Apparently the name means 'far away' in some old-calendar language and that's aptly chosen. Being almost at the rim of the galaxy and away from any shipping lanes, Verre is simply too far out and too unimportant to merit a lasting occupation. So, rather than facing the costs of keeping a garrison, the Federation opted to leave the colonists to their fate. Mind, I _am_ surprised that the troopers didn't take some kind of revenge before leaving, but maybe Space Command has already used up this year's quota of genocide."

"They _did_ take revenge," Blake said. "They left all the arable land riddled with land mines."

"Cheap and pragmatic," Avon commented. "Though I fail to see how this can fall under your definition of good news."

"The colonists have asked for assistance," Blake said. "Those mines are small and highly sensitive but virtually untraceable with the normal detectors. Avon, would you be able to build a device strong enough for that task?"

"Yes." It was said without hesitation. "I think I know the type of mine. They were under development during my stint at the Weapons Research Centre."

Not for the first time Blake was staggered by the scope of Avon's experience. "Is there one major Federation research project you haven't been involved in?"

"A few. Actually, I wasn't directly involved with the development of those mines."

"But you poked your nose in anyway."

Avon smiled coldly. "I consider all knowledge valuable."

"Will you do it?"

"Why not? It sounds considerably safer than most of your enterprises." His gaze turned inwards, as if he was already visualising schematics and circuit boards. "I can build in a control for triggering the mines from a safe distance. Vila can help me..."

"What?" Vila opened his eyes. "Oh no, I'm not your slave!"

Over his protest, Blake said: "There's something else. Up to now more than thirty colonists, half of them children, have lost a leg by stepping on a mine. They haven't the money nor the expertise to build good artificial legs."

Avon shrugged. "Well, I can't help there. Prosthetics isn't my field."

"l was thinking of providing them with the necessary money." Avon raised his eyebrows. "Emptying the strongroom still further?"

"That won't be necessary. I told you I had good news. We're even richer than we thought." Blake smiled innocently. Avon's face remained inscrutable but his eyes sparkled with sudden alarm while a frown of suspicion appeared on Vila's forehead.

"Liberator's owners seem to have hidden their riches all over the ship." Like a conjurer Blake produced the money belt. "Look what I've found in the teleport console."

"But that's-"

"Quiet, Vila," Avon said.

Blake patted the belt. "With this they can buy proper prosthetics for all the victims, and there'll be enough left for replacements for the children while they grow."

"And how much exactly is in there?" The strain in Avon's voice was barely noticeable but it was there, Blake thought.

"One and a half million Goldinos." Blake produced a mischievous grin. "Carpe Diem's currency. Isn't that a coincidence? Liberator's owners must have brought a visit there too."  
  
When no comment was forthcoming, he continued brightly: "l'd better let you rest now. Take as long as you need. That brutal and unprovoked attack must have been a shocking experience and knife-wounds can be extremely painful." He shook his head in mock despair. "You'd expect the crime rate to be very low in a place with such severe punishment laws. But apparently some criminals aren't even deterred by the prospect of castration. Would you believe that while you were down there some ruffians went to rob the Casino? It was on the news. They were marked with tracer bullets, so the police will have no trouble catching them. Unless they managed to get rid of the tracers." Blake gave Avon a level stare. "Cutting those bullets from your own flesh isn't an enviable task."

Avon returned his stare, the dark eyes unreadable. "Congratulations, Blake. You worked it out admirably."

"Please, can we talk about something else?" Vila asked. "You know the thought of blood makes me queasy."

"Of course," Blake said solicitously. "I'm sorry to have woken you, Vila. It was selfish of me to want to share the good news. I'll leave you to your sleep now."

Feeling in high good spirits, Blake left the sickbay, reflecting that Cally had been right — Avon was a good loser.

* * * * * *

When the door had closed behind Blake, Vila whispered: "This was the bit Jenna left us - does that mean he didn't find the rest?"

Avon felt almost happy; Blake was welcome to thinking he had the last laugh! "Obviously. Before we went back to the planet I hid this on top of the other belt. I didn't like to carry the money back to Carpe Diem with me." His lips parted in a sneer. "On finding this one Blake didn't look any further. Typical!"

"So we've all ended up with a quart of the loot," Vila said. "Me, you, Blake and Jenna. Only Cally and Gan are left empty handed."

"Gan wouldn't know what to do with it! And Cally is an idealist." Avon gave that word the contempt it deserved. "Idealists are not interested in money."

Vila grinned. "Then we can all be happy. But next time, Avon, you leave hiding the loot to me!"

"You were hardly in a position-" Avon fell silent, then asked: "_Next_ time?"

A calculating gleam appeared in Vila's eyes. "We can't let Blake get away with this, can we, Avon?"

"We can't," he agreed, reflecting that Vila's resilience was astounding. Living by the day, he'd already put the pain and fear behind him. "But next time we don't take the money back to Liberator. We put it in the bank. I made a study of the banking rules of the neutral planets and I know which are safe."

Avon saw no reason to mention that, while Vila had been indulging in the services of the pretty Lyssa, he'd gone and put a small fortune from Liberator's vault into a secret account in Carpe Diem's most reliable and independent bank. Sooner or later, Blake was going to get Liberator destroyed. Avon intended not to be aboard when that happened, hence his need for a nest egg. With his palm prints all over the Casino and hovercar, it didn't seem advisable to return to Denebulus, but the bank had branches on other worlds.

"Sounds like a good idea." A frown of thought appeared on Vila's smooth forehead. "How did Blake know? Do you think Jenna grassed on us?"

Avon had already considered and dismissed that possibility. "No, I think it was just a happy guess when he picked up that newsflash."

"But he won't let us hoodwink him again."

Avon smiled. Outwitting Blake was exactly the kind of challenge he liked. "I'll find a way. He'll probably expect this experience to have cured us of our criminal aspirations anyway."

Vila was easily reassured. "Yeah, that's true." He held out his uninjured hand.

Avon shook it, solemnly. 


End file.
